


The Raid

by VolxdoSioda



Series: Whumptober 2019 [5]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: BAMF!Noctis, Gen, Whumptober Day 5: Gunpoint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 13:43:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20908616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VolxdoSioda/pseuds/VolxdoSioda
Summary: Noctis puts himself in the line of fire.





	The Raid

He’s at a charity event when the attacks happen. 

It’s a fundraiser for children’s cancer research, with Noctis as the main star. It’s one of the few events he actually looks forward to going to, because it’s impossible to get upset at kids who look at him like they do now, utterly innocent and unaware of the grim realities of the monarchy. It’s been six hours, and the kids are settled in a circle as Noctis reads them a book, all eyes and ears rapt with attention. 

Yet even the sound of his own voice, of the giggle of the kids, isn’t enough to stop his head swerving around in alarm when he hears the close rapport of gunfire.

The doors are kicked in, and men dressed in black swarm. Not the Kingsglaive black, or even the Crownsguard. They wear black with a sharp red insignia on it - a broken crown with a sword through the middle. Another one of his father’s fanatics. 

There are voices, loud and aggressive, demanding things. Guns pointed at the children, children screaming, some trying to run only to find the exits blocked. The guards at the door are dead, Noctis sees. He’s alone in a room with a bunch of vulnerable children, and hostile men who are clearly ready to take lives.

So he does as his station demands, and when one of the closest men puts a gun to a boy’s head, Noctis steps up and rips the gun away, planting himself directly in the line of fire as all guns swing around to point at him. 

Good. 

“Problem, gentlemen?” he asks, proud that his voice doesn’t crack, doesn’t shake. He’s done this so often - never with a bunch of civilians at his back - that he’s used to the pressure of fear now. He knows how to handle it.

“Well now, the stories weren’t wrong,  _ Your Highness.  _ You really do have a set on you.” The man in front of him, the muzzle of his gun less than an inch from Noctis’ forehead speaks. “I can admire that, so I’ll be frank. Your  _ daddy’s  _ got some debts he owes us, in blood and flesh. One way or another, we intend to see it paid back.”

It takes Noctis a few seconds to remember his father’s most recent political move, and remember the many people taking exception to it. “And you intend to pay it back with the blood of the innocent? Evidently the standards of terrorists aren’t what they used to be.”

The muzzle presses against his forehead. The man’s finger hovers over the trigger.

“Now, now, let’s not get  _ uppity,  _ little Highness. You’re not the one in control here. The kids don’t  _ have  _ to die --”

“They’re not going to,” Noctis says, and he leans forward, inviting the bite of the gun. “Because you’re going to take me, and you’re going to walk out of this room, and not a  _ single fucking one of them  _ is going to die, do you hear me? You will not touch them. You will not hurt them, or their parents, or another fucking soul in Insomnia. You want your debt paid? Consider me your equalizer. Now stop talking and let’s fucking go already.”

“Ballsy,” the man breathes, and there’s an undercurrent of respect there. “Ballsy, and so willing to sacrifice for your nation. For the people you  _ hurt.  _ Well then. Who am I to deny you your right to die?” He steps back, and orders. “Bag ‘em and put him in the car. Leave the brats.”

“Prince Noctis, don’t,” the boy behind Noctis whispers, tugging frantically at his pants. “Don’t do it, they’ll hurt you!”

“I’ll be fine.” He smiles at the children as best he can, and prays his father is scrambling the forces quickly. “There’s a phone in the next room on your left, use it to call your parents, okay?”

“But-- hey!”

Noctis loses his sight in the next moment as someone shoves a bag over his head, cinching it tight around his neck like a noose, while hands shove his behind his back and cuff them tight enough to hurt. 

He’s thrown into a vehicle, the door shut behind him. Moments later they’re driving away, leaving behind a crowd of traumatized children, and an uncertain hope of rescue.


End file.
